


The Splendor of Beasts

by Speaks_With_Bones



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, The Elder Scrolls - Fandom
Genre: Bad Sex Scene, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Death, F/M, Transformation, Werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 16:16:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15146960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speaks_With_Bones/pseuds/Speaks_With_Bones
Summary: He was called to serve the Goddess of Beauty, but finds himself serving as a beast.





	The Splendor of Beasts

Crunch. Crackle. A human form lay on the ground convulsing and moaning as his flesh undulated with the movement of breaking bones. Crack. Snap. Each second was more painful than the last. There was nothing he could do to abate it as his body twisted before his very eyes. He was a malformed husk of a human now, howling in agony as his joints popped from their sockets. His limbs grew long and gangly, unsightly ghoulish proportions on a humanoid shape. His muscles bulged, stretching and splitting his skin to reveal dense black needles of fur that quickly spread over the remaining bare patches of flesh.

The pain seemed overwhelming until finally a certain numbness set in. Almost as if his mind had been unplugged from his body. He watched nails like straight-razors erupt from the splintered tips of his fingers without so much as a wince. Something else was talking over him. Something.... more. Something powerful beyond his imagination. He was trapped within his own mind as the Wolf rose from the tattered bits of cloth and skin that had once been his body. The Wolf was him now... and the Wolf hungered....

Terrible echoing howls rang in his ears as Aiden jerked awake. His eyes like stormy seas quickly jerked back and forth to see he was still in his bed at the temple. He looked at his hands, felt his teeth, then breathed a sigh of relief. It was just a horrible nightmare. His stomach was still roiling with disgust at the images he'd seen while sleeping. The Breton sat up on his cot and hugged his innards to calm them.

“Morning mister pilgrim,” the priestess greeted him with a cheery tune to her voice. “You were moaning an awful lot in your dreams. Did the Lady finally pay you your visit?” she asked with a wiry smile.

“N-not exactly. It wasn't the most pleasant dream I've ever had,” the young man stammered, smiling sheepishly. It was quiet for several long moments. The disappointed priestess started to move away when once again Aiden spoke up “You don't have any... werewolves, in Markarth, do you?”

“Werewolves? Well, we do have a lot of,” she looked around hesitantly and spoke the next word quietly under her breath “Reachmen.” She then shrugged and continued at a normal volume, “But werewolves? Can't say I've heard of them being a problem in these parts.”

“So there hasn't been any attacks lately? No sightings inside the city walls or anything, right?”

“Oh heavens no,” she laughed at the mere suggestion. “Markarth is the safest city in the reach, you've got nothing to fear. Why do you ask?”

“I almost wonder if the Lady was trying to warn me of something,” Aiden mused more to himself than his companion. “Thank you miss Brita. I trust miss Helga is already made morning stew? I think I'll help myself to some, should settle my stomach.”

Without much ceremony he threw his covers off, exposing himself in a completely nonchalant way as he rose from the bed and went to retrieve some clean robes from his trunk. Nudity was something relatively common in the Temple, though not so much in the public eye. These Nords here were a fairly traditional people, and their interpretation of Dibella did not always mesh with other's more... liberal visions of the Goddess of Beauty.

He tossed on alight gray robe, eschewing underclothes for the simple trip to the dining room. The clergywomen and pilgrims like himself met there for humble breakfasts and dinners, usually exchanging a bit of idle gossip, before returning to their respective duties. He paused for a moment at a looking glass, fussing with his hair in an attempt to tame the wild black curls into some sort of 'style' besides 'bedraggled homeless man'. Alas, as usual it was a battle fought in vain.

“Morning miss Helga,” he greeted the kitchen lady with a hungry smile. She returned it warmly and offered him a bowl of a simple, watery potato soup. It was bland and tasteless stuff, but he figured a few calories would be exactly the thing to take the edge off his night terrors. He took his gruel and sat at the dining table. He ladled several spoonfuls into his mouth in the same disinterested way as usual. But the more he ate the more it began to taste like something...

Something salty.. Something alkaline. It tasted like... blood?

He stared down at the soup, transfixed by the taste, even as the same plain, boring soup looked back at him. His heart was pounding in his chest and he could feel his own blood coursing through him with excitement. He quickly shoved the soup away and leaned away from the table. What was going on with him? Had he been bitten and not noticed? How could he not have? Maybe with was something else? A nasty case of ataxia or something like that?

“You alright? You're pale as snow” Brita laid a hand on the pilgrim's shoulder.

“Fine!” Aiden yelped, then recomposed himself and smiled. “It's just that The Lady seems to have blessed me with more vigor than usual this morning.”

“Oh really?” the priestess said, leaning over his shoulder to see the slight bump in his robe. “Well, it would be rude to refuse a gift from The Lady herself!”

“Indeed, it would be,” Aiden said, getting up from his seat at the table. Maybe a little 'exercise' would clean these impure thoughts from his head. He took Brita's hand and led her away back to the bed chambers. The two of them disrobed and flung themselves on a made bed of dubious ownership. It didn't matter now. All that mattered was the two of them, consenting adults worshiping their god through physical unity.

Aiden always fancied himself a gentle lover. He laid his mate down gingerly and lavished every inch of her body with kisses. Her cheek, her neck, her breasts, her navel. He lapped at her sex as she moaned and squealed with delight, twining her fingers into his curly dark hair for leverage. He pressed on with her urging, licking and sucking her sweetness until he felt her tighten and shudder with release.

He then entered her in earnest, slowly rocking his hips back and forth to ease himself in gradually, inch by inch. Each thrust was part of a gentle rhythm as he made love to his companion.

_Kill her._

The intrusive thought screamed in his head mid thrust, throwing off his rhythm ever so slightly.

_Tear her open! Eat her!_

No no no! He gripped the sides of the bed, now bucking his hips wildly in an attempt to stay focused on what he was doing. He had to drown out these voices, these... urges.

She moaned and spasmed against his suddenly more aggressive pace. “Please! More! Like this!” she stuttered. And more he gave. He pressed harder, deeper than he dared before. He could feel his own release climbing to a climax rapidly. He hilted himself inside her with one forceful thrust and hugged her tight against his chest as he finally came. It was the hardest orgasm he think he'd ever had.

“Wow... the Lady really did make you more... vigorous today,” Brita said, trying to catch her breath to little avail. She smiled dreamily and nuzzled into his chest affectionately.

Despite his release Aiden was no less on edge though. Those voices... Gods forbid what if he'd actually hurt her? He held her for a short time, gently brushing her hair until the both of them could breathe easily again. He rolled himself out of bed and redressed himself.

“I'm going to go for a short walk around the city. I feel like maybe the stuffy temple air has gotten me a bit off kilter,” he said, picking up his satchel from among his thing and throwing it over his side as well. “I shouldn't be gone for long, if you would fancy another round,” he added with a wolfish grin.

Brita laughed and got up from the bed as well. “As long as you bring that gusto again. I don't think even a Nord man could match that,” she chuckled as she slid into her own robes once again. “Do what you must, sir pilgrim. I'll be here when you return.”

Aiden left the temple and took a deep breath of the fresh outside air. It was soothing to his soul, that was for sure. Maybe all he did need was some air. He walked among the high stone building of Markarth, through the allies all adorned in dwemer fashion, to the market where the tradesmen shilled their crafts. He walked briskly past the butcher, avoiding all eye contact with the supple, bloody beef for sale, and straight to the city gates.

Once outside he found a pleasant little hillock to sit on and root about in his satchel. He pulled out a weathered and beaten pipe and a tiny satchel of blended herbs. He knew Brita frowned on his habit, but it was the one thing he could do to calm his nerves. It wasn't as if they were illegal or dangerous like bloodgrass or nirnroot even. Just some bergamot, some woodworm, a little bit of lavender to help him relax his body. He'd always been a lad with high stress levels.

In fact he'd always been a peculiar child. Ever since he was small he felt he'd had an important calling he was born to serve, but he wasn't sure what exactly it was. He prayed to Akatosh, but the dragon was silent. He prayed to Kynnareth, but she did not reveal her nature to him. He prayed to Arkay and Stendarr, who took no note of him. He prayed to Zenithar, but his hands were too clumsy to please the god of tradesmen. He was at a loss when finally, at eighteen years of age, he had a dream of Dibella, the Lady of Beauty. What she had asked of him was unclear, but he knew it was an important calling. He left home immediately to pursue the pilgrims path, venturing to temples to Dibella all over Tamriel in search of her meaning while spreading her truth of love.

He sighed heavily, smoke wisps drifting idly from his nose and mouth. He felt calmer, but only slightly. Something felt heavy on his shoulders, as if this was the lull before the fury of the storm. He found himself rising to his feet, dusting his robes, and walking off in no direction in particular. Maybe he wouldn't stop. Maybe he would just go to a new city, somewhere far away from Skyrim. He would miss his Brita dearly, but he couldn't stand the thought of hurting her. Ever since coming to Skyrim his thoughts were clouded and muddled. Never before had they been so violent as today, and never had he been anything other than himself. But that feeling in his dream, almost like he was possessed by some foul spirit. He was no adventurer though. He'd never hefted a sword or drawn an arrow. He was a pacifist. A lover, not a fighter. He had no hope of exercising whatever demon it was haunting him. And there was no way he could tell the others at the temple, or surely they'd toss him into the streets for fear of him.

He let his mind wander freely as he walked down the worn paths south of the city. He thought of his calling, his pilgrimage, of the many fine lads and ladies he'd laid with in his travels. He thought of Jorlf in Falkreath and Esmee in Wayrest. The lovely Mazrag gra-Bonk he'd had a tryst with in Craglorn, and the bed he'd shared with Swims-in-Dreams at the Mage's Guild in Cheydinhal. Dibella's teachings taught quality, not quantity of love was what mattered. Maybe he was being punished for being so free with his love? The thought that he'd displeased his patron had never crossed his mind. Maybe one of his lovers had been a werewolf all along? Could one catch the curse through lovemaking?

His thoughts simmered and stirred, distracting him to how far he strayed from the safety of the city watch. Deep into the rugged lands of the Forsworn. Before he could make heads or tails of the situation they were upon him. A cloth sack was secured over his head, his arms grabbed and swiftly bound behind his back. He was kicked to the ground with pointed spears jabbed menacingly at his sides. He could hear muffled chattering, but couldn't make out the words. It was everything in him to keep from pissing himself in abject fear. When it seemed a day couldn't get any worse, there was being captured by man-eating savages.

“Shaman...Wolf... Hit'em good” the words barely registered before a blunt pain in the back of the head turned everything black.

 

* * *

 

He had no way of knowing how long he was out for. When he awoke he was naked, though his hands and legs were bound. He was outside, in the open air, in what looked to be an old quarry. He was lying on a shabby wooden altar, above him carved into the rock was the visage of a snarling wolf. There were dozens of men and women in various animal skins staring at him intently. He could feel their hunger in their stares. This seemed like the end of the road for Aiden Morros.

“My people!” a voice he could not see spoke from behind him. “You see my power is long! Hircine has blessed me with his gift! Behold!” Aiden could see from the corner of his eye a wrinkled hand grasping an odd looking staff high above his head. There were murmurs among the crowd some cheering, some questioning as looked upon it. “And I shall spread this gift to all the people of Markarth! This is but the first! The spirit of Storihbeg flows through me! And now into this sacrifice!”

This time the cheering was unanimous as the staff began to glow a luminous pale. He could see an orb fastened at the top, glowing bright as the moons themselves. Staring at it made his blood race just the same as that morning, when he swore he tasted blood in the soup. He could feel his blood heating up, absolutely boiling inside his veins as the false moonlight poured over him.

Then it hit him. The pain. Oh he remembered the pain from his dream. All over his body, like thousands of needles being pounded into him with a warhammer. He could hear the unearthly crack as his bones began to break themselves, changing their shape to suit his new form. He could feel it in his legs and his toes, his arms and his fingers, even in his face as his skull pushed itself forward, streaching and splitting the skin to form a horrible slavering muzzle. His human teeth uprooted and fell into the dirt, replaced instead by the canines of an apex predator. His ears twisted and moved, his hearing growing painfully more acute by the moment. He could hear every sinew of his body tearing and reshaping itself in agonizing detail.

His spine curved itself into a dreadful hunch, more suited to running on all fours like a beast than upright like a man. His tailbone pushed free of his hind end, new muscle and flesh quickly growing over it to shape a tail. Then the fur came, shredding through his skin like teeth and tearing away all that remained of his humanity. He felt his mind beginning to blank, just as it had in the dream. He felt the hunger, the lust, the overwhelming desire to hunt numbing his human emotions to the point of nonexistence. He had become a beast in body and mind, and his humanity was trapped inside him, merely along for the ride.

He let out an ear-shattering howl as his transformation completed, to the cheers of the onlooking crowd. During the transformation his bonds had snapped under the size of his buldging new muscles, yet for how much he wanted to escape, to run, to hunt, to kill, he found himself imobile.

“You see? The Staff of Lycanthropy works! Hircine blesses his chosen one! I was able to infect this pedestrian miles away, and now I retain complete control over him. He will do whatever I command! You see?” The shamn lifted the werewolf's tail and unceremoniously shoved a finger inside the manbeast to the laughter and jeers from his followers.

Aiden snarled, anger unlike anything he'd ever known burning out of control inside him. This man was responsible for it all? The nightmares? The horrible thoughts? He lured him here and turned him into this monster? All just to humiliate him?

The shaman stuck another finger inside, teasing the werewolf with his laughter. “All that power, yet all mine to control. Are you angry cub?” He slid another finger inside, stretching Aiden's exit to its limits.

He jerked suddenly at the pain, causing the shaman to stumble. The staff left his hand for only a fraction of a second, but it was enough for the wolf to regain control. He lunged at the shaman, grabbing his head in his mighty jaws. He held him tenderly for a moment, seeing the flabbergasted gazes of the followers.

_Kill him. Eat him._

This time the inner voice wasn't that of the shaman, but the Wolf speaking in earnest.

'I shall'

Jaws crunched down on the shaman's head, crushing it like an overripe melon. Blood and bone and brain drenched the ground as the wolf began to tear apart the rest of the body, ripping meat and organs from the remains and quickly consuming as much of the flesh as possible before the angry mob of followers set upon him.

'The staff!' Aiden thought and subconsciously reached out for it. Control seemed to be returning to him as he grabbed the staf and quickly swung it, cracking the metallic end over the head of a forsworn. He swiped his free hand, claws cutting through another like butter.

There were too many for him to fight them all. 'Run!' he thought with all his might, and though his body seem reluctant to follow through he snatched the staff in his teeth and began to pound away on all fours. A stray arrow stuck his shoulder, an ice spell pierced his flank, but the pains seemed trivial compared to that of the transformation.

He was out of sight before the Forsworn, but still he kept running. Where to he was not sure. He couldn't return to the city, not like this. He had to figure out how to use the staff, to change himself back. Then he'd have to turn it over to... someone. But who? The mage's guild? The temple? Who could be trusted with such an awful power?

He had time to ponder it as his instincts took him to a quiet creek. He rested for a moment, able to put the staff down and remove the arrow protruding from his side. He studied the staff in detail now, able to see it better when he wasn't hogtied beneath it, writing in pain. It was mostly wood-make, a fine sturdy wood as far as he could tell, with one end topped with a massive metal wolf's head. In the jaws of the wolf lay the silvery orb that had cast the wretched spell on him. In many way it more resembled a hammer than a staff with the uneven weight. Only someone with the unholy strength of a werewolf would be able to swing it efficiently. What a catch.

All he knew is he wanted it to change him back. He needed to warn the people of Markarth. Although he'd stopped this shaman in a rather gruesome display, another would doubtlessly take his place and come looking for the staff. If he didn't get it somewhere safe the whole city was still in danger of falling to Hircine's curse.

_We rest_

'But I don't want to be stuck like this! I can't afford to sleep now!'

_We rest now_

The Wolf spoke with a gentle absoluteness as his body collapsed ontop of the staff, obscuring it from sight. It wasn't the most comfortable position to sleep in, but it would have to do till morning...

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is done for now. I may add another chapter later if I get the inspiration to write more werewolf gore and d-movie sex scenes. I originally planned for it to be longer but I ran out of spoons on this chapter so... I dunno. Say nice things if you like it.


End file.
